


Shoot to Kill

by CabbageOriley



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Comedy, Happy Ending, no one dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-19
Updated: 2012-10-19
Packaged: 2017-11-16 15:34:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/541047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CabbageOriley/pseuds/CabbageOriley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles closes his eyes, resigned to his fate.  He feels the bullet hit him square in the chest, and his body crumples to the ground...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shoot to Kill

**Author's Note:**

> I unfortunately do not own Teen Wolf or its characters. All I own are my ideas about it and my love for it!
> 
> This is my first fanfic. Hope you like it!!

Stiles is running through the dark forest. The hunters are too close behind for comfort, and the pack is too far ahead. Stiles is in better shape than most people give him credit for, but there is no way he can keep up with werewolves.  
“Scott,” he half yells half whispers, “wait up!” Surely Scott wouldn’t leave his best friend alone in the woods. Yeah, yeah, Stiles left Scott alone in the woods, but that was only once. It wasn’t his fault he had been attacked by a psycho werewolf.  
“Scott!” Stiles is getting a little desperate now. He can hear footsteps behind him. “Jackson?! . . . D-derek?!” His lungs are burning. If he doesn’t stop to catch his breath, he’s going to collapse.  
Stiles stops and rests his back against a tree. “Where’s Scott’s inhaler?” As he looks down to see which pocket it’s in, he sees a red light trained on his chest. He’s pretty sure his heart stops.  
“I’m a human! You wouldn’t kill a human, the sheriff’s son, would you?” He hears a slight click. “Oh, you would. Yeah, okay. Oh dear God, don’t let it hurt.” He closes his eyes, resigned to his fate. He feels the bullet hit him square in the chest, and his body crumples to the ground.

****************************************************

“Stiles, what are you doing?” a voice asks as if there is absolutely nothing wrong. He opens his eyes and looks around. His vision is failing, but he can see two figures standing over him. He uses the last of his strength to reach an arm out and utter his last words.  
“Help. . . me. . .,” he goes limp and lets his face hit the cold dirt beneath him.  
“Oh for crying out loud, get up already.”  
Wait, was that Jackson? Nice, Scott didn’t even come back to pay his respects, but Jackson, that feral beast, did?  
“Dude! Get up.” Good, Scott did come.  
“Can’t. Hurt. Dying.” Why is no one grasping the seriousness of this situation? “She, she shot me!” He points to the dark haired girl leaning against a nearby tree.  
“With a paint ball,” Allison says as she rolls her eyes.  
Stiles sits up. “Well, yeah, but it really hurt!” He gapes in disbelief as everyone laughs and walks away from him.  
“You’re out, buddy,” Scott smiles, revealing his big dimples. “Go back to the house with Derek. We’ll be back after I win.”  
“You really think you can win against me!” Jackson states in his usual cocky tone.  
“Dude, we’re on the same team. I win, we both win.”  
“Not if I shoot you first.”  
Stiles is shocked. “Whataya mean? Derek’s already out?!”  
“He didn’t want to come in the first place,” Jackson huffs, “and he let Lydia shoot him.”  
“He did not!” Lydia is shocked at the accusation. “I have great aim. He didn’t stand a chance.”  
The group walks off, leaving Stiles alone once again.

“That’s gonna bruise.” Stiles sighs and stands up. He wipes the debris off his clothes and starts to walk back to the ruins that make up the Hale house. He pulls out his cell phone to check the time.  
“9:45, really? It’s pitch black out here,” Stiles whines. It’s not like he’s scared of the dark or anything. He just. . . he prefers the light. Yeah, that’s it, he prefers the light.  
Just as he’s thinking about what kind of sandwich would be best to have for lunch tomorrow, he hears a stick crunching fairly close to him. He freezes.  
“Guys? Not funny, guys.” He gulps. A few feet from him he sees his abandoned paintball gun. He leaps and slides to it with such skill that any of the Mets players would be jealous. He aims the weapon and braces himself. The ammunition fires in rapid succession. When every last ball is gone, Stiles stops pulling the trigger.

************************************

“STILES!” Derek roars. “What are you doing?!”  
Stiles relaxes. “Oh thank God. Hey, sour wolf. I thought you were someone else.”  
“Clearly, because if you knew it was me, you would have thought twice about shooting me with all those paintballs.”  
“Clearly. If I had known it was you, and shot you anyway, you’d be threatening to rip my throat out.”  
“With my teeth,” Derek adds for effect.  
“Clearly.”  
With a growl, Derek turns and walks away. Stiles stands up and hurries after him. He’d rather be with an old grumpy sour wolf than alone in the woods at night.


End file.
